Lionel Johnson

There was a murkier tinge in London's air

As if the honest fog blushed black for shame.

Fools sang of sin, for other fools’ acclaim,

And Milton's wreath was tossed to Baudelaire.

The flowers of evil blossomed everywhere,

But in their midst a radiant lily came

Candescent, pure, a cup of living flame,

Bloomed for a day, and left the earth more fair.

And was it Charles, thy “fair and fatal King”,

Who bade thee welcome to the lovely land?

Or did Lord David cease to harp and sing

To take in his thine emulative hand?

Or did Our Lady's smile shine forth, to bring

Her lyric Knight within her choir to stand?